


I See A Darkness

by havisham



Category: Original Work
Genre: Betrayal, Loyalty, M/M, Murder, Role Reversal, Seduction, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: The stories were true to a point -- Yvain had indeed been sent to kill Amalric, the old king of Wieland, and had ended up serving him instead.





	I See A Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> Yo, Sath! I couldn't resist this prompt! I hope you like it.

 

The stories were true to a point -- Yvain had indeed been sent to kill Amalric, the old king of Wieland, and had ended up serving him instead. It wasn’t true that Yvain was a foolish and inexperienced boy when this had happened -- he had been knighted then for a number of years, and though still young, he was battle-hardened. 

Amalric was kept in an old fort in the marshlands, a place more suitable for mosquitos than for a man who had been so feared throughout the land only a decade before. Belenus, the current king of Wieland and Yvain’s kinsman, said that he allowed Amalric to live only out of respect for Amalric's father and the noble blood that ran through his veins. 

Yvain thought it was more likely Belenus had calculated the price of killing Amalric was too high for his first few years on the throne -- there were still many who were loyal to him, though even they agreed that he was best left off the throne. And after that, inertia had taken over. Or so Belenus said. But Yvain had heard that Amalric was a suprisingly hard man to kill and perhaps that was true. 

In any case, Belenus had banished the old king to an obscure part of the kingdom and with that, he’d hoped to banish his memory from people’s minds. 

For the most part, it had worked. Under Belenus, the kingdom prospered. The trade routes that had been closed because of the war opened again. Wines and spices, silks and steel, and other things long denied to the people of Wieland came flowing back. 

Though Yvain had been just a child when the war had broken out, he remembered well the terror the very mention of Amalric’s name could bring. Amalric had neither pity in his heart nor the love of God. He would burn a church as easily he would an enemy’s castle. He had killed Yvain’s father, it was true, though it was in single combat and there had been no dishonor in it for either of them. 

When Belenus told him his mission, Yvain’s heart quaked in his chest, but he accepted it. Eagerly, even, he asked when he could go. “Soon,” Belenus said, satisfaction rolling off of him like grease on a cooking sausage. Easy living had ruined his golden good looks, thickened and made coarse what had once been beautiful. Yvain had once been told that he favored Belenus, which displeased him. He could not help but think, looking at the man, that he had caught a glimpse of his own future -- if he did not take care now. 

“Amalric knows that his warden changes every year or so, and he will be expecting you. I don’t require you to complete your mission right away. You may learn from him, if you wish, but --” Here Belenus lifted his shoulders, gave a sad shake of his head. “Amalric is a crafty old fox. I don’t doubt that he is planning to escape his prison and try to steal my throne. You, as my kinsman and heir, are obliged to stop him.” 

“I’m not your heir,” Yvain said, feeling obliged to state the obvious. Belenus’s lady wife, the Princess Alodia, disdained him, but there was no doubt that she would do her duty one day and provide him with a son. Yvain had no illusions that he, the son of Belenus’s late, lamented brother, would ever inherit the kingdom from his uncle. 

Belenus loved only what belonged to him, and Yvain was not one of those. 

But Belenus only smiled at that. “You leave at dawn. Kiss your lovers goodbye, Yvain; you will not see them for some time.” 

Yvain left before dawn. He had no lovers. His uncle knew that well enough. 

*

The rain fell like a steady drumbeat against his head. It had been raining for three days straight and Yvain thought he would soon develop gills to compensate for the wetness around him. It might happen -- the marshlands were said to be home to strange magics. 

Amalric’s fortress was a squat, low building on an island in the marshlands. Originally a timber structure, it had been fortified by stone hauled in from the mountains some centuries before. Neither the fort nor its stones seemed to belong here. There was a wrongness in the air that seemed to go deeper than heavy stones on sinking land. Yvain shivered and wished the rain would stop. 

The steward of the fort was expecting his arrival -- the gate opened for him and there was a small party waiting to greet him. All of them looked at him boldly, as if he were a creature in his uncle’s menagerie. 

There was no one who matched Amalric’s description there, and at his questioning look, a barrel-chested man named Bradach -- the steward -- stepped forward and said that the king usually took his evening constitutional at that time and could not join them. 

Yvain’s brows rose at the word _king_. “Do you still consider him the king when my uncle, Belenus, rules from the capital?” 

Bradach flushed. “I meant it only as a courtesy, my lord.” Then, gathering his courage, he said, “Begging your pardon, but you have not met Amalric yet. When you do, you will see what I mean.” 

“I will meet the prisoner in due course,” Yvain said, aware of how arrogant and uncaring he must seem. Belenus’s nephew indeed. “But first, draw me a hot bath. I must scrub the mud from my skin. The air itself is fetid and damp.” 

“Of course, my lord,” said a woman, who stood besides Bradach. She introduced herself as Idonea, Bradach’s wife. She was a slim, dark-eyed woman, considerably younger than her husband. It was easy to see that she was more intelligent than him too, though Yvain wondered what form that took. The look she gave him was fleeting but sly. 

It would be exasperating, he decided, if she should try to seduce him. He had never been a great lover of woman. In the city, that had brought him some measure of ill repute, but here in the back of the beyond, he supposed such bad rumors had not yet penetrated.

The bath was a miracle and a pleasure. Yvain could not imagine a greater feeling than this -- sinking into the warm water, the damp hair sticking to his skin, and the sweet smell of soap scenting everything. He unwound his hair from its braid and let it fall unbound down his back. He washed it with the soap, humming as he did so. His oil-darkened hair gradually lightened and he dunked his head under the water to rinse it off. 

When he came up again, he realized that he was not alone in the room as he had assumed. 

He could see no one, but the feeling of being watched did not dissipate even as he finished his bath and dressed. Soon there was a knock at the door -- a servant had come to take him to dinner. “Is Amalric there?” Yvain demanded. The boy looked at him with wide eyes and muttered something incomprehensible about clockwork. 

“Bring me to Amalric,” Yvain said impatiently. 

He was led across the hall to a set of rooms far grander than his own. The servant knocked on the door and waited. Eventually, a voice rumbled, "Come in."

The first time Yvain saw Amalric, the latter was sitting at a table, surrounded by a disassembled watch and various tools and gears meant for watchmaking. For a moment, Yvain was dumbfounded. 

Amalric was quicker to react. He stood up and strode across the room, his hands out. He grasped Yvain’s hands in greeting, squeezing them so that they almost hurt. He was smiling, but the smile never reached his eyes, which were dark and cautious. Amalric was a handsome man and his years in captivity had not changed that. His dark hair was greying at the temples and he was unshaven, as was the fashion at court when he had been banished. 

Yvain saw to his surprise that they were nearly the same height -- in fact, he was a little taller. It was odd that he could look at the terror of his childhood straight in the eyes. 

“So the reports were true, you are truly Belenus’s double,” said Amalric. Yvain thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in Amalric’s tone, and his temper flared.

“No,” he said flatly. 

“No, you aren't? Or no, the reports aren't true?” 

“I can hardly assume the reports you've read were only about my looks, so I won't confirm or deny them. But I am nothing like my uncle.” 

“A bold declaration,” Amalric muttered, almost to himself. “We will see soon if that's true.” He followed Yvain's gaze back to his workable and grinned. “Would you like to see what I've been working on?” 

“Not particularly,” Yvain said, following him over. 

“Then I will impose on you,” Amalric said, handing him a half-finished watch to examine. Yvain took it without further protest. It was beautifully made and clearly foreign -- the silver felt heavy in his hands, and old, though not tarnished. Amalric’s father’s name was engraved inside the watch cover with a great flourish. 

It did not tick or otherwise run.

“It's beautiful work, but useless,” Yvain declared. 

“True,” Amalric said. “It will take me more time to get it working again. But I hope it will work soon, so I may gift it to you, Yvain, before you are called back to the capital again.” 

“Why?” Yvain smiled. “I hope you are not trying to bribe me.” 

“Are you so easily bought? Though perhaps not so easily. This is the only thing I have left of my father’s.” 

“That must be difficult, to have so little of your father. I can sympathize with it, for you killed mine and I have little to remember him by as well.” 

There was a long pause. 

Amalric said, “You certainly cut to the quick of things.”

“I don't believe in lying.” 

“Or courtesy, it seems.” 

“That is just lying dressed up well.” 

“I begin to see why Belenus sent you here,” Amalric said. “Now, are you hungry? Supper has been set for us and must be cooling by now.” 

Idonea served them what seemed to Yvain a peasant’s meal -- a stew of meat he couldn't identify, brown bread that was clearly not fit for a lord, and cheese that stank from across the table. Amalric ate with every indication of pleasure, feeding bits of meat to the trio of dogs that gathered, excited, at his feet. 

When he noticed Yvain hesitating, he laughed. 

“It's not what you're used to, is it? But I enjoy more humble fare now, and of course, I am grateful to be fed at all.” 

“It's very -- coarse,” Yvain said, gingerly taking a bite of bread.

“Do you think your royal mouth will shred to pieces if you eat peasant’s bread?” 

“Don't tease me,” Yvain said coldly. “From now on, these meals must reflect who eats them. If not for you, then for me. Do you understand?” This, he directed at Idonea, who looked displeased at being thus addressed, but quickly hid her expression. She nodded and said that she would try her best. 

Yvain thanked her and turned his attention back to his meal. There was really not much to say, and despite everything, he was hungry, almost ravenously so. The brown bread did not so much shred his delicate palate as satisfy him, to a surprising degree. 

Idly, he wondered when he could do the deed. If not tonight, then perhaps tomorrow. He could be back at the capital by the end of the week and reap whatever benefits his uncle chose to give him. He’d heard a rumor that Alodia was now with child, and he supposed the days of his usefulness were coming to an end. Belenus would demand more things from him now, more tokens of loyalty. 

Amalric’s life was the first thing Belenus demanded, and that was what he would have. Of course, to see the great Amalric thus reduced to a piddling hobbyist was disappointing, but Yvain would have to master it somehow. It would make it easier to kill him, most likely.

Yvain pondered how he would do it -- Belenus had left it up to him, gratifyingly enough. Poison would not do, not in an unknown kitchen and around strangers, and he did not wish to bother setting up an accident. So a knife in the back would have to do -- a coward’s way, certainly, but effective. 

He must have looked wrapped up in his thoughts, after all, because as soon as Yvain stopped eating, he saw that he was alone. 

He made his way back to his rooms, getting lost only once or twice. It would have been easy for someone to come and take him unawares, but Yvain made it back and crawled into his bed unmolested. He went to sleep and dreamed of the man he would have to kill. 

…But not just yet. 

Some days passed, and Yvain still did not put his plan to kill Amalric into action. At first, he reasoned that he needed some rest from his journey -- the trek from the capital to the swamplands was not easy, and though Yvain was young and strong, he was also fatigued from traveling alone. Beside that, he recognized something important: Amalric was an incredibly important source of information, not just about the history of the kingdom, but in ways of battle and in guile. If he died without letting Yvain know some of his secrets, then wouldn’t it be a pity? 

But how to make him give up those secrets? Yvain knew well enough that he was not talented in dissembling -- he was straightforward to a fault. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

He would do what he came for and then he would go. Whatever Amalric’s secrets were, he would have to take them to the grave. 

*

Of course, it wasn't so easy.

The following days seemed to move quickly. Amalric remained alive, despite Yvain’s best efforts. It seemed like every attempt he made at Amalric’s life was doomed for failure -- sharp knives lost their edges, arrows kept to their paths, and Amalric never slipped on the stair, no matter how Yvain might have wished it.

It was when Yvain was neck-deep in swamp water, with a yellow-eyed alligator circling around him, that he decided to give in. 

Amalric was floating comfortably on a boat next to him, shading his eyes with a floppy hat. In a lazy voice, he said, “I don't know if I should be honored that Belenus sent his nephew to kill me, or insulted that you are without a doubt the worst assassin in the five kingdoms, though you are very pleasant to look at." 

Yvain ignored him. He eyed the closest alligator warily, daring it to attack. It yawned and showed him a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. 

“Oi, Yvain. Are you listening?” 

“I don't know why my uncle decided to let you live and then decided to kill you. It's honestly frustrating how often he changes his mind about things. People can't be unmurdered. But thank you for calling me good-looking. Obviously, I am.” 

“At least you’re self-aware.” 

“Let me on the boat before this lizard eats me.” 

“I will make you a bargain,” Amalric said, offering his hand. Yvain took it before Amalric could change his mind and scrambled up the side of the boat. His alligator friend decided to _move_ \-- frighteningly fast, but all he got was the sole of Yvain’s shoes. 

“What was the bargain?” Yvain asked, breathing heavily against Amalric’s chest. He was vaguely aware that he ought to move, but he couldn't just yet. There was a queer look of triumph in Amalric’s eyes. 

“Let me advise you. Guide you. I can help you dispose your uncle and become king. Is that not what you want most of all?” 

Yvain pulled away and straightened up. “What you are suggesting is that I commit treason, with the help of someone I just tried to assassinate. Do you think I'm a fool?” 

“Luckily, I'm not the kind to hold grudges,” Amalric said easily. “You're a fool, but that's mostly inexperience. Come on, let's go back to the castle and clean you up. You'll be able to think better then.” 

*

“It would be kinder if you killed me now,” Yvain said gravely from his steaming hot bath. He could still smell the fetid stink of swamp water in his hair, but he tried his best to ignore it. Amalric, who had been puttering around his chamber, paused and looked at him. 

“What would be the fun in that?” 

“Fun, you say,” Yvain said drily. “If this plot should fail, I would be killed in incredibly ugly and bloody ways. My uncle relishes punishing conspirators.” 

“I find that I cannot sympathize with this,” Amalric said. “Not when you -- well, you know.” 

“Do you have some kind of magical protection?” Yvain leaned forward, eager to know at least one of Amalric’s secrets. “I really am not as incompetent as I seemed. It was as though nothing I did would work.” 

“There is no truly magical explanation. I’m just very lucky. I always have been,” Amalric said, coming over to the tub. Yvain looked up at him, skeptical. When Amalric leaned down to kiss him, he was surprised, but not nearly as much as he ought to be. Nor did he pull back, not until the last moment, when he couldn’t quite breathe. 

“Was I so transparent?” he asked quietly. 

“Honestly? Yes.” 

“Oh.”

Amalric ran his hand over Yvain’s wet hair. He seemed to want to pat it, which was both humiliating -- an abortive fatherly gesture, _oh no_ , did he really think that? -- and frustrating, in that Yvain wanted him to. He wanted to be touched, he wanted to be kissed again. He was almost wild, with the force of his wanting. 

“Wait,” he said, instead. Amalric retreated without another word. Yvain got out of the bath and dried off quickly, pulling a robe around his shoulders. 

“Are you going to bed?” Amalric asked him. 

“Yes,” Yvain replied. “Yours.” 

He was embarrassed by Amalric’s expression -- slyly pleased and not at all surprised. This was, Yvain thought, his worst decision to date. No, he amended quickly, his worst had been to accept this assignment in the first place. The second-worst was to accept Amalric’s offer. 

Crawling into Amalric’s bed was thus only his third-worst decision so far, and that was far more cheering than it ought to be. 

*

“I’m not a virgin,” was the first thing Yvain said as he dropped his robe to the floor. He threw himself on top of Amalric’s bed and gave him a come-hither look. It was a comfortable bed, far more comfortable than his own. He bounced on it, experimentally, and felt that it had been stuffed recently. Amalric’s servants were truly devoted to their master. 

“I thought as much,” Amalric said, climbing beside him. 

Yvain gave him a narrow look. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Would you like me to?” 

“Maybe later,” Yvain said, feeling very suave. “Now, show me what you have.” 

Amalric laughed at him, but he went along willingly enough. Yvain might be a fool, but he was one who recognized foolishness in others very well. Amalric wanted him; whatever else he said, whatever else he was planning for, his desire was plain to see. Yvain could use that. He would have to, if he wanted to succeed.

He reached out and began to unlace Amalric’s breeches. Avoiding his eyes, Yvain ducked down to take his cock into his mouth. But Amalric stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Yvain looked up, confused. 

“You don’t want this?” he said, trying not to sound as if it mattered. But it did matter. He wanted very much for Amalric to want him, to get hard for him. 

“Say I’m a romantic and want to kiss you first,” Amalric said. “Would you let me?” 

 

“I’m disgusted by your softness, and I hope that isn’t a premonition,” Yvain said haughtily, allowing himself to be gathered up in Amalric’s arms and held. He didn’t usually let his lovers do this; Yvain had never been overfond of the affectionate touch. Who knew how sincere it was, anyway? 

He pulled away and said, “Fine. But let’s have the truth first -- why did you kill my father?” 

He had not shocked Amalric as he had hoped, in his heart of hearts. The other man seemed to be expecting this. He climbed on to the bed next to Yvain and stretched out, seemingly more relaxed than he truly should be. “I liked your father. I grew up with him. If he had been the one to claim the throne, perhaps I would have negotiated with him. But he didn't -- he threw his lot with Belenus, and I had to fight him. I did not want him to die, but --” Amalric shrugged, looking helpless for the first time. “I cannot control it, sometimes. My own father once said that I'd die fighting, even if I didn't know why. I've always been good at -- fighting and winning. Kingship was only that, for me. I had no notion of ruling until I was put on the throne.”

Vaguely, Yvain thought he knew all of this. Surely one of his tutors had shown him the genealogy chart that connected his father and Belenus, a pair of noble brothers who were entirely unlike each other, and their cousin, Amalric, the old king’s son. 

Upon the old king’s death, it seemed as though the council would vote to crown Belenus instead of Amalric, but in the last moment, they had decided against him. Amalric had taken his crown and gone on the offensive. He claimed and he conquered, doubling Wieland’s size in a matter of years. A mighty conqueror he was, but in his absence, Belenus’s influence grew. 

“My father would have liked neither you nor Belenus to be king,” Yvain said. “Both of you you were unsuited for it.” 

“True enough.” Amalric touched him suddenly, making Yvain startle. He was not used to being touched -- he was not sure if he liked it, as such. At least he didn't flinch. And, luckily, Amalric didn't seem to notice his reaction. “What would you do, then?” 

“I would… command you to suck me,” Yvain said. “Would you do it?” 

“Hm. I was asking about the political situation at hand, but I'm not against that either. Sit back, then, and let me take care of you.” 

“I, uh,” Yvain felt his face grow hot. He hated this feeling he had, of being hopelessly outclassed by Amalric, of being as easily manipulated as a puppet on a string. He wished suddenly that he had been older, that he had been able to serve Amalric when he had been king. Yvain would not have thought twice about worshiping him then. 

Amalric would have known how deeply loyal Yvain could be. 

Ah, but then -- 

Amalric took out Yvain’s cock and sucked it down, as practiced as a whore. Yvain doubted that other version of himself would've dared ask for this, and more’s the pity. He wondered, idly, how much Amalric would give him, if he demanded it, and how much he would give in return. 

“Like a whore, you said,” Amalric remarked afterwards, wiping away the pre-come that had dribbled on his chin with the back of his hand. 

“Did I?” Yvain said, feeling slightly faint. 

“Yes. I would say, rather, I did it like a soldier.” 

“I never did that in the army.” 

“You never conquered with an army.” 

“What did you do?” Yvain asked, leaning closer. “Earn the loyalty of every soldier by cocksucking? A novel approach, to be sure.” 

“You would be surprised -- or perhaps you wouldn't be? -- how little one has to do to earn loyalty. I mean the real sort, the sort that would cause someone to sacrifice their life for yours. Sometimes a kind look is enough. A touch. A word.” 

“I see,” Yvain muttered, tracing the shape of Amalric’s mouth with the tip of his finger. He didn't, really, but he thought he might be starting to. 

*

The next six months were devoted to planning. Dutifully, Yvain wrote his weekly dispatches to the capital, describing the condition of the prisoner and everything he did there (nothing that could be stopped by his guards) and his visitors (of which there were none), omitting any mention of treasonous plots. 

It was strange to say, but he’d never considered betraying Belenus before. For better or worse, he’d known his fate was tied up with his uncle’s, and he had never had a viable alternative until now. 

“Why would you trust me?” he asked Amalric once, as they were poring over maps of the kingdom, devising a better way to reach the capital without being stopped. There was a splotch of ink on Amalric’s hand that Yvain focused on -- it was better than looking him in the eye, surely. 

But then that hand caught his own and held it. “Why does anyone trust anyone?” he mused aloud, ignoring Yvain’s loud sigh and eyerolling. “No, what I meant is -- you are very sincere, Yvain. I can see it plainly.” 

“I would not betray you,” Yvain said, his words rushed and almost choking him. “I would not. I swear it.” 

“I know.” 

He did not know. Yvain knew that. But even so, he nodded and went back to work.

*

They took the long way to the capital, gathering up as many forces still loyal to Amalric as possible and recruiting new people who would rally behind Yvain as well. They left behind Bradach and Idonea behind to take care of the fortress. 

A conveniently timed illness had swept the region. In Yvain’s last dispatch to Belenus, he’d written that they were all under quarantine, and that Amalric especially was feared to be at death’s door. Yvain glanced over his shoulder to see Amalric getting on his horse. He looked healthier than Yvain felt, which was surely very rude of him. 

Taking the long way meant that Yvain saw more of the kingdom than he had before. It seemed that all the prosperity that his uncle had been so proud of had only reached some of the inhabitants and had left whole regions mostly untouched. 

Yvain did not think he was particularly naive, but perhaps it was better to say that he’d willfully ignored the suffering of others. If he actually became king, could he allow this to continue? If not, then how would he change it? 

“What are you thinking about?” Amalric asked him. 

“The presence of suffering in the world,” Yvain replied. 

“Say no more.”

“I will if I want to,” said Yvain, feeling rather obstinate. He felt rather than saw Amalric roll his eyes. 

*

Yvain had lived in the capital almost his whole life, but it was slightly different to return there with an army at his back. If there was to be siege, it would be a long one. But Belenus purposed negotiations to start at once, as Yvain knew he would. 

They agreed to meet in a neutral location a little outside the city and away from the rebel camp. No weapons and no other warriors would be allowed in the vicinity, upon the pain of death and eternal damnation for whoever should breath their word. 

Belenus looked slightly thinner when Yvain saw him again, a little more careworn. He did not seem particularly surprised at the way things had turned out, and when he swept into the room, his eyes fell on Amalric first, and he extended his greetings to him only. This annoyed Yvain an incredible amount, though he tried not to show it. 

“You should greet your nephew too, Belenus,” Amalric said baldly. “Though I must say, it is a strange day when I am the one advise you on points of etiquette.” 

“I have nothing to say to that traitor,” Belenus said coldly. “If he must take up with his father’s leavings, then far be it for me to stop him.” 

“What did you say?” Yvain said, springing up from his seat. He reached for his sword, but Amalric stayed his hand. 

Belenus smiled. “Why do you insist on repeating the past, Amalric? Do you hope this one will be able to do what his father could not?” 

“Amalric killed my father, he did not conspire with him,” Yvain said. Only silence greeted him, though. Both men eyed him, Belenus with grim derision and Amalric with something like -- embarrassment. 

“Yvain,” Belenus said pityingly, reaching out to him. “I understand, you know. Amalric was always a beguiling monster. Come with me now and we’ll forget all about it. You are still my kin, and my heir besides.” 

“Uncle, you’ve always been so kind,” Yvain said softly, as Belenus enveloped him in magnanimous embrace. “But I thought Alodia had given birth to your son already?” 

“You needn’t worry about that. I would never forget you, my boy.” 

“I know it,” Yvain whispered into Belenus’s ear. Belenus must have known something was wrong, because he moved away then, but not quickly enough. Yvain’s knife missed its mark upon Belenus’s neck, but still the wound was enough to wind him. Belenus’s mouth opened and closed, without a sound coming out. He collapsed in the heap in the middle of the tent, his hands around his neck. 

“Ah, I botched it,” Yvain said, tugging the knife back. He began to wipe it clean against Belenus’s cloak, ignoring the way his uncle clutched at him. 

“Y-you fucking brat,” Belenus gasped, coughing up globs of blood. “I should’ve drowned you --” 

“We have a few minutes,” Amalric said. He pressed a hand against Yvain’s hot forehead. It felt so good that Yvain sighed, leaning against him. “You did well.” 

“You bastard, Amalric, it wasn’t enough that you turned my brother against me --” 

“Just die already,” Yvain said impatiently. 

“Listen to me! You’ll die cursed and despised, Yvain. You've killed me for nothing.” 

“Enough of that,” Amalric said, bending down to finish the work. Yvain averted his eyes for a moment, and that was all that it took. Belenus spoke no more. 

*

The crowning would be a rather subdued affair, all things considered. The official story was that Belenus had eaten a bowlful of unripened cherries, taken suddenly and dramatically ill and died. It was with reluctant sorrow that Yvain took his place.

He said all the right things, praising the dead man and promising to protect his family. He meant it too, some of it. Alodia was no fool -- as soon as she had heard of her husband’s death, she had fled to the borders of her own country, with her child in tow. She had almost made it, too, but now she was back in the castle, every inch a queen, proud and offended. 

She would make a better ally than an enemy, Yvain knew. He didn’t want to repeat the mistakes Belenus had made with him, to always feel that he merely lived on his uncle’s sufferance. It would not be like that for Alodia and her child, he assured her. She did not seem to believe him, but as a practical sort of woman, she agreed to marry him in due time, or at least to consider it.

It was no matter, Yvain told himself. His coronation robe was stiff with jewels and gold thread and they clattered as he moved. It was stiflingly hot. 

“Hold on.” Amalric stole behind him and pulled something loose, and for the first time that day, Yvain was able to breathe comfortably. He allowed Amalric to do other little things for him -- brush back his hair, straighten his sleeves, brush his coat. It seemed to please Amalric to do it, so why not? 

Eventually, he seemed satisfied. “Look in the mirror,” he said to Yvain. “What do you see?” 

Obediently, Yvain did as he was told. His reflection was as it always was, with one small difference. Yvain frowned. “I see a murderer.” 

“You're wrong,” Amalric said bluntly. “It was not murder, what you did, but simple justice. Belenus took many more lives with less compunction.” 

“No,” Yvain said, “it's not the guilt that bothers me, but the absence of it.” 

“Then you will do well, going forward. Soon that feeling will die as well.” 

Yvain turned to look at him, a smile on his lips. “You really are a demon in disguise.” Amalric did not deny it. Instead, he took Yvain’s hand and kissed it. 

“I live to serve you,” he said, his voice low. “When you have no more use for me, kill me without any hesitation.” 

“You would instruct me on when to murder you as well? You are true teacher, my dear.” 

“It surprised me too, how much I came to... care for you. The first night I saw you, I was ready to kill you before you could kill me.” 

“What stopped you?” Yvain paused, cocked his head. “Oh. You spied on me in the bath, didn't you? Pervert.” 

“You seemed so lonely and frightened. I felt -- I don't know, I felt something for you that I hadn't for a long time.” 

He is thinking of my father, Yvain thought with a rush of jealousy. Amalric was already stooped over, putting the last polishes on Yvain’s heeled boots. Yvain sat down next to him, almost landing on Amalric’s lap. “Amalric, I want you to fuck me. Send me to my coronation with your come leaking out of me.” 

After that, they didn’t need to speak -- words were rendered useless, dull and void. Yvain liked this feeling most of all, of being surrounded by something mad and dangerous -- but his to control, at least for a moment. 

There wasn’t enough to satisfy him -- Yvain doubted somehow that there ever would be enough time for that -- but over the past few months he had become quite adept at taking his pleasures where he could. He ground against Amalric, whose breathing was steady but slow.

He pushed Yvain away for a moment and said, “Take off the robe.” 

“Why?” Yvain didn’t bother to keep the whine out of his voice. 

“You’ll lose a gem or something,” Amalric said mildly. “It’s a robe of historical significance.” 

“It’s a fucking bejeweled dress. Do you want to fuck me in it or not?” 

“Brat,” Amalric said, smiling. “Of course I will.” 

It was haphazard and rushed, hardly even worth the trouble, except -- it was, it had to be. Somewhat unwillingly, even through the haze of pleasure, Yvain remembered Belenus’s last words to him. A dying man’s words sometimes had the force of a prophecy. He believed them. But he also believed that, given a choice, he would do it again. 

He would do it all again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Story Notes:  
> \- Thanks to my beta! All mistakes and also terrible attempts at dirty talk is mine, all mine.
> 
> \- Title from Johnny Cash. 
> 
> \- I imagine Yvain looks a bit like Albrecht Dürer, with a long, sad face and lovely hairs. When you think about it, isn't art an enduring conversation about how hot you are/were, _please remember that, future generations. That, and nothing else_
> 
> \- I kept thinking _you're so Yvain, I bet you think this story is about you_ and I don't know why I had to share that but I did. 
> 
> \- This was already too long, so I didn't get much of a chance to write the reaction to the ending, but I imagine it goes like this:  
> Random Courtier # 1: I can't believe Amalric is back on the scene again, that man has more lives than a cat.  
> Random Courtier # 2: Do you really think Belenus really died eating cherries?  
> Random Courtier # 1: If cherry can stab you in the neck, sure.  
> Random Courtier # 2: What.  
> Random Courtier # 1: What.
> 
> \- I have some bits of discarded worldbuilding on why Yvain ended up being king and not just a regent for Belenus' son,  
> which mostly has to do with the nobles voting for him to become the new king. It's also the reason Amalric was allowed to relinquish the throne and still live. (Besides his amazing luck, of course, which is the only magic present in this story.)


End file.
